A Little Bit Longer
by Monkeygirltoria
Summary: John is depressed and suicidal. It has been two years since Sherlock jumped. One day, he finds a mysterious man and gets a hopeful note that changes his thought about taking his life. STORY FAR BETTER THAN SUMMARY, HONEST!


"Good bye John" John stared in a state of shock at his friend. As he saw him on the edge of the roof at the Bart's Hospital. "No. Don't" he tried saying to the phone, but it only came out as a whisper. He saw Sherlock look down at him in a gaze and dropped his phone to the floor. "SHERLOCK!" John screamed to the air, as he finally got his voice back. Sherlock stared ahead of him as he lifted his arms to his side, and let gravity take hold. He plummeted to the ground. John ran toward the edge of the hospital where Sherlock was. Though it kept getting longer and longer, the more he ran. He could see Sherlock, as if he had super vision, but was still a block away from him. All John saw was Sherlock's black curly hair and pale ice face, covered in a dark red blood. As his electric blue eyes were flashed open in a dead gaze. "No he's my friend. He's – He's my friend!" John yelled as he still kept running in a fixed position. When he finally got movement towards Sherlock, everything went black. "Say Goodbye to your friend Dr. Watson." John was then face to face with James Moriarty. "NO!" he yelled pushing the villain away.

John immediately woke up from his sleep, hyperventilating. It has been exactly two years since Sherlock Holmes jumped. John is miserable. He doesn't get much sleep because he has terrible nightmares like this. Sadly, this one wasn't as bad as normal. Every day, he has a sliver of hope. Hoping his best friend would come back. Though every day, his hope was getting thinner and thinner. He stopped working with Lestrade since it brought back too many hurtful memories. He is working back at the clinic. He would see Molly now and then. Just like Lestrade though, she brought back memories. On John's free time, he would just sit up in his flat at 221 Baker Street, drinking tea in the dark. He would always sit on Sherlock's couch, trying not to make it empty. John is more than miserable, he is depressed. Every night, he convinces himself not to overdose on his pain killers. Since his limp in his leg is back. He always thinks that it must be better to just go to sleep, and not wake up. Some days, when Ms. Hudson is gone, he thinks about grabbing his gun and putting it to his head. Just the other day, John tried to drown himself in the bathtub. Every time he's about to do something to his life, he stops thinking that maybe, just maybe, Sherlock will come back tomorrow.

After calming himself down, John got up and got his cane. He gave the object a dirty look, as he knew he really doesn't need it. Sherlock would be disappointed, he thought. He noticed that it was 2:20 in the morning. He wanted to get out of the house. He didn't care what time it was. He put on his black and white stripped jumper, and some jeans. He grabbed his keys and went out the door. "God, it's freezing out here." He mumbled, as he went out onto the sidewalk. He decided that he will go to the little pub down the block. Since it was the only thing open at this time. As he walked, he felt oddly watched. He shook the feeling off, thinking it was just because the time of night. He got to the pub and walked inside, walking up to the bar. He looked around notching the people. There was two women to the left of him, sitting at a table, a couple at the other end of the bar, and a women speaking on her phone to the right of room, in a booth. "What will it be mate?" the bar tender asked getting John out of thought. "Oh... Uh. Just a beer please. Uh, tap." John mumbled quickly to the man. The man nodded, grabbing a glass, and filled it with the first beer that was next to him. He handed it back to John, as he gave him a few pounds for the drink. "Thanks" he mumbled. As John drank his beer, he saw a man walk quickly and quietly through the door and went to the farthest booth in the room, far away from him.

He looked rather gothic. He was wearing black jeans, a long sleeve black t-shirt, and a grey hoodie, which covered his face. The man was slender and looked rather odd. He didn't fit in. As he kept thinking about the man, his body looked more and more like _Sherlock_. No, it can't be. Sherlock is dead. I saw him dead myself. Pull yourself together John. He thought to himself. As he tried to stop thinking about the man, John was thinking harder. He started getting anxious, and was trembling. Waves of memories, good and bad, were coming back to him. He didn't know how to control his emotions. He felt like crying and yelling but didn't want to make a scene. He then got up, grabbed his coat and cane, and went straight to Baker Street. Don't make a scene now, not now, not now. He was now upset. Let's just face it John, Sherlock is not coming back! HE'S DEAD! That's it! I'm tired of this depressing life. I'm doing it! He thought as he was walking. He got to his door, unlocked it quietly, and went to his flat. He turned right into Sherlock's dresser, and grabbed his gun. He took the safety off the gun, and quietly cocked it. He didn't want Ms. Hudson to hear much. (Well, besides his gun firing.) He put the gun straight to his head, with his finger on the trigger. He turned around and noticed something. Something big enough to put the gun down, and drop it to the floor.

On the living room wall, right next to the bullet holes and spray painted smiley face, was a note. In big, yellow, sprayed paint letters, was: **_PLEASE JOHN, A LITTLE BIT LONGER_**. John was speechless. He fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Down past Baker Street, in a little alley, was the same man from the bar. He took off his gothic clothes, and changed back into his trench coat, purple shirt, and his navy blue scarf. The only light that came from the alley, was the man's lighter, lighting a cigarette. Sherlock leaned against the alley wall, "One more year John, one more year." As a single tear fell down his cheek.


End file.
